diamonds shine in the dim light of dawn
falling with the sparkling blue waterfall
a whirlwind adventure glinting through the leaves
lost in the forest of wild fantasies
droplets of silver sifting through the breeze
a tiny beacon of hope flickers in the distance
like a single candle in the window of an old dark house
or an elephant dancing in the moonlight
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Author:
kitty the naughty poet (
Offline) - Published: June 16th, 2022 01:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- User favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments3
Beautiful poem Katie .. lovely writing .. especially love the last line .. elephant dancing in the moonlight‘
Good write Katie.
ok so i know y'all think I'm pitifully crazy
cos I choose to be somewhat, overtly effusive
in my appreciation of the poetry y'all share..
but here, lets compare
your succinct and vivid, poem
with one of the greatest
to ever lift a pen
(admittedly, I may be a fool
but equally, all y'all Poetry is truly awesome):
' — but the waterfall itself, which
I came suddenly upon, gave me a pleasant
twinge. First
we stood a little below the head
about halfway down the first fall, buried
deep in trees, and saw it streaming
down two more descents to the depth
of near fifty feet. Then we went
on a jut of rock nearly level
with the second fall-head, where
the first fall was above us
and the third below our feet still.
At the same time we saw that the water was divided
by a sort of cataract island on whose other side
burst out a glorious stream — then the thunder
and the freshness. At the same time
the different falls have as different characters;
the first
darting down the slate rock like an arrow;
the second
spreading out like a fan;
the third
dashed into a mist — and the one on the other side
of the rock a sort of mixture of all these. We afterwards
moved away a space, and saw nearly the whole more mild, streaming
silverly through the trees. What astonishes me
more than anything
is the tone, the coloring, the slate, the stone, the moss, the rockweed;
or,
if I may so say, the intellect,
the countenance of such places.'
from Keats letters
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